


Owe It All to You

by lafcentric (readytobebolder)



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Based on: Little Bird by Ed Sheeran, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Metaphors, learning to cope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9630878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readytobebolder/pseuds/lafcentric
Summary: And of all these thingsI’m sure ofI’m not quite certainOf your loveAnd you made me screamBut then I made you cryWhen I left that little birdWith its broken leg to die





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grumblebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/gifts).



> For grumblebee

There’s a bird lying on the grass. George looks at the animal, only realizing he is there when he almost steps down on him. He is a male finch, common around his castle, in this part of the mountains, with the blush of red spreading through his chest and little head. Beady black eyes. A cry of pain escaping his beak as George crouched down to look at him, realizing his leg is bent in a strange way and his feathers are ruffled, some missing. A broken leg. A broken wing. This bird is injured. Hurt. Bleeding.

“You’ll die,” he whispers to him, watching his terrified eyes.

And, for a moment, that look reminds him of Ben—horrified, tears building in his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes which haven’t shed tears in so very, oh, so very long. He’d looked upon George with betrayal, with hurt, and the King found himself thinking that he would’ve rather seen anger than the deep sadness within his consort.

Ben had dug a grave for the servant whom he’d killed. Baker, he is reminded. Baker had been his name. And he’d been Ben’s best friend until George, in a bout of furious jealousy, robbed him of his life, and watched it fade away with a hiss of pleasure, his hand around his dainty little neck. Now the memory only evokes disgust within his person and he refuses to think about it again.

No, he watches the bird.

He squirms, trying to get away from George, terrified. The King gives him a soft look and attempts to move him, perhaps towards a hole in a tree where he can die in peace instead of being ripped to shreds by any of the mutts Ben insists on keeping around, but the finch gives a tweet so loud and painfully pitiful that George takes a step back and leaves him alone. To die.

 _Like you and I, Benjamin_.

Ben sleeps on the other side of the bed, curled up, back to him. George also gives him his back but not because he’s ashamed to look at his husband—which he is—but because at least he owes that to Benjamin. He owes him the privacy that he stole when he stepped into his Kingdom, cut off his brother’s head and took him as consort to the other side of the mountains. He owes to Ben for the kindness the little King has shown, for the slow kisses under the oak near the south gardens, for the time he curled up against his chest and showed sympathy to his captor.

He owes Ben because he’s done him wrong. More than once. More than twice. Certainly more than twice.

 _I’m sorry_.

He doesn’t know how many times he says so throughout the day but at one point George realizes it’s starting to make no sense. It’s redundant, it’s a phrase so repetitive that one day George sits down and gazes at Ben and realizes that there’s no sorry that could bring a friend back. A brother back. A friend back. Ben sits by the window and thinks, watches longingly over the mountains, watches the birds fly. The King gives him as much privacy as possible and tries not to come too much into the bedroom.

Townsend says that these things take time, like scars when they’re closed but tender. George thinks about the bird he saw and for some reason, feels anxious. He goes after noon to see if the little finch is still there but no. Of course not. It’s not. Either the dogs ate his delicate little body or the cats did or the gardeners picked him up and tossed him away. It makes him sad. Maybe—

Maybe if he’d nursed his relationship with Ben from the beginning, they wouldn’t be right now where they are. But it was so… so…

He hadn’t wanted to pressure Ben. He’d let the boy come to him slowly and of _course_ it’d worked but  too late. Much too late. If he’d known about Baker, if he’d known about his nightmares, if he’d known about the morning cuddles with chamber boys or how he’d be after King Tallmadge died then maybe he would’ve—he could’ve—he _may have—_

The bird is gone and so is Ben’s love.

Benjamin Tallmadge had been pretty but his Ben, _his Ben_ , he’s _changed_ George. He’s made a better man of him, made him better version; a bit softer, maybe, yes, but a _better_ version nonetheless. He’s made George feel like he’d never felt before. Anger. Sadness. Disappointment. But also Amusement. Hope. Love.

It makes George want to scream. Sometimes, when he hears Benjamin sniffle—never cry, he never cries—on his pillow, he wants to scream. And he does, one time. He sits up and begs him to stop, begs his forgiveness, begs him to let go of it, Baker is _dead_ , and he’s sorry. So deeply, deeply sorry.

And Ben only curls up and keeps quiet and doesn’t give him a fight.

George lays down on the bed. Back to Ben. This time, he doesn’t feel shame. He feels horrified. Terrified. Like that bird with his broken leg. Because of all the things he’s sure of—the length of a day, the economic decline of King Jonah, the jumping range of Benjamin’s little rat—he’s unsure of Ben’s love.

Of the same love he’d declared a thousand times since Spring began.

 _I miss you_.

George never cries. He never does, why would he? He’s a King, a tyrant, a warrior, a dominant figure in his Kingdom’s everyday life. He doesn’t cry. Like Ben never cries.

Why didn’t he pick up the bird? Why didn’t he grab a handkerchief, carefully pulled him up and nursed him back to health? Why did he think of the imminent death of the poor animal when he’d had the chance to pick him up and put him back together?

Ben screams this after throwing a vase at his head.

George is startled, and he looks at Ben with wide eyes, hands still protecting his eyes as his consort makes a tantrum amongst all the sacred family heirlooms from the Washington family. His grandfather’s cuckoo clock, shattered on the floor. His mother’s collection of quills, on the floor, broken. Ben thrashes around and shatters what is his family and his past and what he should’ve been but never was because _he_ came into his life. Townsend is the one that catches him by the waist and begs him to calm down. Servants try to pick him up.

“You left that little bird with its broken leg to die,” his voice cracks and his eyes water and there’s a cut on his hand where blood oozes and when he looks away, George is still frozen on the spot. He doesn’t realize his eyes are wet until the doors close behind Townsend.

When he is composed and he thinks himself fine, he goes to the third floor, breaches the entrance to his own bedroom without a knock and steps inside, thinking Benjamin will be on the window, as always. But he’s sitting on the bed, knees drawn to his chest, blankets stewn around as a patched up, little male finch sits on his index finger, tweeting, singing for him.

George cannot believe it.

He stands there, watching Ben, bird cocking his head around, chirping awfully for him. George hates the way finches sing but Ben seems happy to hear him. Ben seems happy to see him. Ben seems… at peace.

And George realizes his mistake.

He sits at the edge of the bed, moving close but still giving him space, looking at the bird before turning to Ben, who isn’t smiling anymore. He looks bittersweet now, blue eyes a shade darker, stormier. Spring is over and Ben doesn’t love him but God will always know that there isn’t anything in the world George loves more than to see those eyes lighting up when he walks into the room. They don’t do that anymore.

“I left that little bird with its broken leg to die,” he whispers and Ben nods.

“You think I don’t love you,” he murmurs and George nods.

“I miss you.”

“I know.”

“Strawberries—”

“Taste like lips do. You’ve told me before. You keep leaving the strawberries on the table for me. Thank you.”

“I’m—”

“Please, don’t say you’re sorry,” Ben says very quietly and he moves the little finch closer, lowering his knees, placing him on his lap where a small, tender blanket sits. The bird’s feathers ruffle to keep warm from the October breeze drifting from the window and Ben caresses his feathers with a delicate finger. “I’m tired, George. I’m very, very tired.”

George flinches. Looks away.

“You took away my past. My brother. My father. My friend. And yet when I broke your past I didn’t feel better. I thought I would but I—didn’t,” he whispers, biting his lower lip. “Forgive me for doing that. It’s not becoming of a King, less of all one trying to make a point about petty feelings of revenge or jealousy.”

“You broke a few ornaments, dearest,” George’s voice is so quiet Ben surely strains his ear to hear it. “I killed someone you trusted. Someone you loved.”

“There’s no point in hating you,” Ben sighs, eyes watching the bird close his eyes and relax. He picks at the little makeshift bandage he’s done over his leg and wing and begins to undo them, the finch protesting but letting Ben move him around. “There was never a point in hating you, George. Why should I now? Of course I miss my friend. Of course I miss my home. My father. My brother. My servants and my old bed. How can’t I miss them?”

George swallows. Something like sorrow climbs up his throat and he wants to either vomit or rip it out with his teeth. Savagely. He feels strangely violent until Ben takes the little bird, stands, and lets him fly away. Ben fixed the bird. Ben nursed him back to health. George just assumed he’d die and let his guilt over not taking the bird consume him.

It’s a clear example.

“I’m sorry,” he says, for the very last time, because he won’t say it again. He closes his eyes and lets in a shuddery breath when he feels Ben’s hand on his cheek and his lips brushing away the single tear that betrays his unbearable guilt. But then Ben speaks, and he says;

“I forgive you.”


End file.
